If You Want to Hit The News Bigtime, Host a Tornado!

The storm itself is in the news everywhere. If you've been watching news of any kind you know that a tornado ripped through the small Iowa town of Mapleton a mere 20 miles northeast of where we live. You can click here to see photos of the destruction.

But before the storm devastated Mapleton it first passed over our small town. The warning sirens sounded and, being the witless curious folk that we are, most of us zoomed out the patio door to see "what was the matter". We had company and the men of the bunch were the most witless curious. The overhead sky was definitely full of threatening clouds but it didn't seem any more than the usual dark blustery clouds of spring.

But to the north of us, a mere two blocks away, we could see a large and incohesive mass of air that had whipped dirt into the mix, turning it a dark gray. Even though it seemed only "breezy" on our deck, we could see that two blocks north, there were patches and masses of dark roiling air. We knew that boiling mass could quickly evolve into a funnel.

Still...we stood there watching. We knew the air was moving eastward and not towards our deck.

In the meanwhile we had ordered pizza. Our daughter, who had gone to pick it up, was standing in Pizza Hut wondering whether to drive home or to hide in the bathroom with the rest of the pizza crowd. She was bummed that she missed the stormy view from our deck. I was worried about her! But she returned safely.

Our other daughter works in an assisted care facility on the north edge of town....exactly in the path of the pre-funnel cloud. The routine is to round up all residents and move them into the hallway. When they realized one male resident was missing, they found him standing outdoors with his binoculars watching the storm.

Residents of Mapleton, Iowa, did not fare so well. One online source stated that about 120 homes out of the town's 600 were destroyed. Thankfully, no lives were lost. The Sheriff and his crew had tracked the storm and requested warning sirens be sounded early. Those extra few minutes gave residents time to head for their basements or other protected areas. Major damage. But, I repeat, no lost lives. We are grateful for that.

There are numerous videos of this tornado on news sites and on youtube so I will not include a link...you can easily google and find them.

After the storm passed, our guests departed in several directions. But only after checking radar on iPad and iPhones. Pretty handy devices!
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Upon Which I Tell You About Lennie's Diary in Year 1898

These days nobody writes anything on paper. It's email or twitter or blogs or whatever. And little of it is printed out for posterity. (Sure, you think just because it's on the Net that it is forever! But that's what you thought about your VCR movies, too!)

We have in our possession a shoe box full of letters that Hubby's mother wrote home to her mother. A huge lot of them. But this post is not about those letters.

Instead, I am writing about Hubby's grandfather's diary. It was a simple little pocket-size book with a couple lines set apart for each day. Each day in 1898 Lennie (his name was Charles Leonard) wrote succinct notes about his day. He was seventeen. He was in high school and worked on the neighbor's farm. He played in the town band and liked girls. His transportation was either a horse or a bicycle. There were no cars yet.

I have a fondness for Lennie. My hubby very much resembles him physically, and although I never met Lennie, I'm thinking their personalities were similar as well.

I hope you will click over to Lennie's diary and follow along as I post his daily notes nearly 113 years later.

And, maybe, perhaps, it will inspire you to begin a diary of your own.

Happy New Year, Everybody! Happy New Year!
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Today's Word: succinct [səkˈsɪŋkt] adjective
Definition

1. marked by brevity and clarity; concise

2. compressed into a small area

My Brother is Always Good for a Snirkle!

I make up new words. Today's word? "Snirkle!" It's sort of a cross between a giggle, a smirk, and snarky laughter. Today I snirkled!

Earlier today....a phone conversation with my brother. In regards to our family gathering for Christmas. And food thereof.

• Me: "The fruitcake is almost gone.
  

• Me again: "But I'm going to make another."

• Brother: "Oh, No!"

• Brother again: Oh! I mean "Wonderful!"

My brother is always good for a snirkle.

P.S. I am not always good a making up new words. I googled "snirkle" and guess what! It's already taken. It's a candy bar, of all things, that originated in 1920. Man! Am I behind the times! Snirkle, snirkle!
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Upon Which I Tell You About Paddy Paws our Polydactyl Cat

My friend Grahamn Kracker left a comment on my last post stating that he never stops blogging, not for busyness, not for the things of summer....unless he is somewhere where he cannot access the net. Mr. Kracker startled me for a moment for it had been such a long time since his previous comment that I had forgotten who he is.

So I wandered around a bit, looked him up, and remembered, "Oh, of coursed! Mr. Kracker is his pseudonym...or is Mr. Kracker his REAL name and Bill Hess his pseudonym." Aw, Shucks. Mystery!

At any rate, Mr. Kracker, aka Mr. Hess, aka Bill of Wasilla, loves cats. And so today's short post is for Mr. Kracker. (Or is it Mr. Hess?)

Years ago, almost 25 years ago, my daughter and I lived in a small apartment on the second floor of a large home. Our windows looked out into the trees, making for a tree-house feeling. At that time it was a good place for us to live. We had a third resident, a gray tiger kitty called "Mouse". No other name seemed to fit her grayness. Mouse was a good companion to my daughter and amongst other games, would play fetch with marbles rolled down the long hallway.

Daughter and I made the mistake (happenstance) of visiting the pet shop in the mall where we just had to stop and pet the kitties. One gray-and-white had a six-toed genetic variation on its front paws. We were smitten. Smitten with the kitten! The owner assured us this was a male kitten. This was important because neutering a male would be cheaper than spaying a female and we were on a tight budget at the time. Even buying the kitten was outside of our weekly budget. But we fell for this kitty. We fell hard. And so we brought it home.

We named the kitty Paddy Paws. (The name should have been Paddy Polydactyl Paws.) We took the kitten to our local vet to follow up with any remaining shots and to inquire when we should bring "him" in for neutering. The vet, too, named this kitty a "he".

Paddy Paws was darling. Paddy Paws loved playing. Paddy Paws even seemed to get along well with Mouse. But Paddy Paws never learned (refused) to use the litter box. Our apartment was small and we did not want to deal with a second litter box. And we did not know how to keep Paddy Paws from sneaking through a small hole behind the bathtub and using the attic space for a toilet. (I never told our landlord!)

So Paddy Paws had to go (pun intended) and where better to go than to the farm where we had acquired Mouse. Farmer and his wife already had plenty of kitties, some of which were house cats and the others well-fed barn cats. All were well attended and we knew Paddy Paws would be safe there.

Paddy Paws showed that vet a thing or two. SHE had several litters of kitties in her short life. Most of them exhibited the six-toe gene. Sadly, along with the mutation she passed on a "short life" gene of some sort. Paddy Paws lived only a few short years. One day her owners found her out on the lawn where she had gone to sleep and never woke up.

Her kittens, too, seemed to die young, even though all were well fed and received appropriate vet attention at various times in their lives. (Not all polydactyl cats are short-lived but for some reason she and her kittens seemed to have this problem.)

I talked to Mr. Farmer a few years back and he said all the neighbors were experiencing six-toed kitties amongst their litters. One or more of Paddy Paws' descendants were toms, and in farm country, toms venture from farm to farm doing what toms do.

And that's my story for the day.

As for Mr. Bill Hess (I think that's his pseudonym and I'm certain Grahamn Kracker is his REAL name)...well, he has a photo on the front page of yesterday's Anchorage Daily News). Click here to read more.

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A Week In Which I Learn Several Things

Life is full of little moments of learning. Sometimes those learnings are not of great import. But sometimes they are.

I learned this past week that three people can clean a garage in a little over an hour. (This was a one-car garage so perhaps yours may take longer!) We bagged up stuff for the Goodwill. We bagged up stuff for the curb. We hope we bagged up all the spiders. No, not to the Goodwill; to the Curb!!!

I learned that family is family. Even if they've been lost for 25 years. During April and May we had visits from long lost family members. During both visits we shared old family stories, old photos, old places that were important to their father when he was growing up. It was a good time for us and I believe for them as well. What a blessing from God to all of us!

While cleaning out our fridge I found a cellophane bag of lettuce. Very old lettuce. Hidden well behind something else. Hidden for a long time. I learned that bagged lettuce of certain age simply turns to liquid. It was pretty ugly! That bag traveled very speedily from the fridge to the trash. Ughhh!

We learned that some hospitals, even highly rated "teaching" hospitals, can fail to live up to their reputation. Thursday, Hubby went in for two days of testing. The staff flubbed royally and failed to instruct him to fast (and failed to instruct kitchen staff as well) for a biopsy to be taken on the second day. The biopsy had to be postponed until Monday. We'll be making a second trip to the Big City hospital.

This morning I was reminded in another incident that God's providence (provision for us) is good indeed. I met with my oncologist before having chemo. My comment about his tie (a lovely pink and dark navy stripe) led to something else which then led to our talking about our shared faith in God. It is gratifying to know that he understands me when I say, in speaking of my cancer, that I believe God holds all my days in His hands. (Psalm 139:16). And he understands that while I believe this verse, I also believe that we are to seek good medical care and that I want him to do the best job possible for me in dealing with ovarian cancer.

I had told him that when I see shirts and ties I think in terms of "fabric" and have a covetous desire to cut them up for quilts. He grabbed his tie rather protectively. First, he's a good Onc. Secondly, he's a nice man. Third, he did not give me his tie. I guess two out of three isn't bad. Especially in that order.

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Of Pizza and Pineapple

Pizza and Pineapple...but not in the same dish. That's the menu this morning for breakfast. And, no, this is not a "recipe" post.

Somehow this past month has been incredibly busy. I think if I could take one thing off my calendar it would be medical appointments. But they are there and they will probably remain there for a long time to come.

Last month one of our "missing" family was able to visit from Ohio. And visit we did. It was a blessed time.

This week we are having another nephew visit from Texas. This is his first visit to the area where his father grew up. And so we have taken another tour of the schoolhouse, the farm, the area in general. (Don't forget you can click on photos for close-ups.)

Yesterday's visit to the farm was great fun because the farmer who tills those fields was there with his machinery. He and his helper were placing nitrogen on the acres that will be planted to corn. Then they planned to disk the ground afterward to prepare it for planting. I'm guessing by the end of the day that field was planted and ready for green plants to begin peeking through the soil. It's time. We've hopefully experienced our last killing frost and farmers are now rushing to get every acre planted within the optimum time frame.

Nephew was fascinated with the machinery and asked the farmer many questions...which was nice, because I learned a lot myself without having to ask my own questions.

Of course, we walked through the old house where my siblings and I grew up. As we left, I looked down at the kitchen floor. I remember when that flooring was laid down some 55 years ago. The fellow who sold it to us extolled the virtues of that flooring and guaranteed that it would never wear out. But there it is...the seams are splitting...and it definitely looks "worn out" to me. Don't you think so? That "guarantee" was just too good to be true.

Last evening one of my brothers arrived from his home 100 miles to the south of us and there was much conversation amongst the men at the dinner table and afterward in the living room.

And now today...there are two medical appointments on the calendar. Blood tests. Nephew may have to eat leftover pizza for breakfast. Followed by leftover pineapple upside-down-cake. Somehow I think he can handle that with no problem. Just as long as there is a fresh pot of coffee to go with it.

Whereupon I Try Something New with Wishful Thinking

When I learn something new I love to share. And today's "Word to the Wise" is aimed at my fellow cancer peeps.

You remember from yesterday's post that I am visiting the Minnesoda daughter and grandson. Near Minneapolis. And you know that we've taken advantage of the great eateries here and have eaten out. And we've completed one home project. And then we ate out again!

It is early morning and I am the first in the household to be up and about. I betcha Hubby is sleeping in at home, too. There and here, I'm the early bird. Aside from the microwave beeping that my oatmeal is done, it's pretty quiet around here.

My Word to the Wise? I'm gettin' there. It has to do with shampoo, not oatmeal.

When I visit Daughter I enjoy checking out the shampoo, the body wash, whatever bottles are in the shower. Standing in someone else's shower is an easy way to try new brands! I like the scented ones. I like the new, unknown to me, brands. At home we have 20 zillion varieties of the old labels but not many "new", or "green", or "pomegranate"...not that this one was pomegranate. I don't really remember that this one had any particular scent or claim to being "green". But it held out promise.

You see, yesterday's shampoo was labeled "Curly Shampoo".

And here's my Word to the Wise with "wise" being my fellow cancer peeps.

Do not use Curly Shampoo. Especially if you are bald from chemo. In spite of any hopeful wishes you might harbor, it doesn't work. I promise you, it Does NOT Work!

However, I'm thinking that the itchy rash on the back of my hands is from the shampoo. I think I'm allergic to it. Me! Bald me! Allergic to Curly Shampoo!

Go figure.

Sign me off as "Still Bald but Not Curly".

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Yah, You Betcha!

Minnesoda is a good place to visit.

There are lots of Scandihoovians in Minnesoda.

The corn crops are already poking up from the ground.

The fishing is good in Minnesoda. Mostly because there are lotsa lakes in this state. Anyone remember the "Land of Sky Blue Waters" of the Pabst Blue Ribbon TV commercials? I betcha they filmed those commercials in Minnesoda.

My daughter and grandson live in Minnesoda. They are the best reason to visit Minnesoda.

Yah, I have a little Scandihoovian blood myself. That's why I know how to spell and pronounce Minnesoda.

Yah! I bet you thought I couldn't spell, didn't you!
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You Can Have a "Secret Garden" of Your Own!

Sometimes I enjoy life in "miniature". My collections include pretty bottles of buttons, jars filled with tiny button-size sea shells from a Maui beach, and a glass container of dice of various sizes and colors. And, of course, bottles of more buttons. So this past weekend when my daughter brought me this tiny terrarium she made from a light bulb I was tickled with its tiny form and beauty.

Daughter found instructions online to take apart a burned out light bulb. (She advises you wear gloves and safety glasses and follow instructions here.)

Once the bulb has been cleaned it is an easy (ahem!) process to layer gravel, charcoal, and plants. In this case a tiny bird has been added to the scene.

While this light bulb terrarium is as tiny and as cute as can be, remember that you can use any kind of glass container of any size to create a terrarium of your own. Check here or google to find good terrarium instructions.

They really are rather simple to make and so delightful to the eye. For a kid project, select a larger jar with an opening large enough for them to handle with ease. Terrariums can be any size and shape but whatever container you choose, they're Fun!

Be prepared to enjoy a summer garden scene weeks before summer gets here!

Have fun!

The Titanic ... in 1001 Pieces!

Normally when we pick up a recycled jigsaw puzzle at the hospital consignment shop we are not surprised to find a piece of two missing.

However...this morning...with lotsa family visiting, we put this 1000 piece Titanic puzzle together in only a couple hours. AND we found one EXTRA piece...a duplicate. Now I wonder who bought a NEW puzzle and found our piece missing from their box.

With multiple toddlers in the house organization has disintegrated into various piles of toys, blankies, toys, blankies. But the Moms/Dads are super good with their kids and we're enjoying them all. The older kids (boys) are doing a great job, too, of admiring babies as long as no adult notices them doing so. If that happens, they pretend complete indifference.

McDonald's McMuffins and donuts for breakfast, Pizza for lunch. Chinese for supper. Makes cooking a lot easier.

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That Genetic Connection

My Uncle Jake was Mom's favorite brother and it broke her heart when, first, he was wounded (and paralyzed) in Korea, and then died an early death at age 42 as a late consequence of that paralysis.

Last Thursday we were pleased to have Uncle Jake's grandson, wife and great-grandson visit our home on their jaunt from Colorado to home in New York. We had a lovely evening together. And we took many photographs. I especially like this photo of my Mom holding her favorite brother's great-grandson on her lap.

When I took the photo I imagined my Uncle Jake looking on and smiling at his Sis and his Great-Grandson.

Family is important. We express our love first of all to God, then to family. For in our family, we see a bit of ourselves. We see the flaws and the graces handed down genetically and environmentally. I recognize, more than ever, why my personality is as it is...a blend of other personalities in previous generations with traits that hinder or bless. But the flaws in my own personality help me understand others better...both in my family and outside. What seems to be a negative has become a positive in my dealing with and understanding other people. Especially my grandkids!

I am appreciative of the fact that my parents and grandparents and perhaps great grandparents were Godly believers who lived lives of faith in Christ. I wonder, sometimes, if they prayed for my soul as I pray for my children and their children, and even the next generation that is not yet born. I like to think that they did.

You can read more about Uncle Jake here and here...just light bits of insight into his life. And you can read about his grandson Matthew Day Jackson here.

If artistry runs in the family, we've got it. Do a google for "Cat Rocketship". And check (my daughter) Yiddle's website. I love seeing their latest creations. My daughter's abilities awe me.

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It's funny how you can be at home one day and the next day you can be 6000 miles away. While you are at home, "reality" consists of "home". And then the moment you land "there", home fades into the background and your new location becomes "reality".

Last Thursday we flew from Omaha to Dallas, looking down over snow-covered Kansas farmland. (You can click the photos for closer views.) Then we flew a second leg of the journey from Dallas to Maui.

And now here we are...at "there"...and it doesn't seem strange at all to be walking about in 70-degree weather instead of having to deal with Iowa's cold and snowy winter. Today "reality" is palm trees, ocean breezes, and fresh papaya for breakfast.

As our plane approached the Kahului Airport I took several photos. Have you ever heard of crop circles? You know, those mysterious circular formations in the middle of a field that look as if they've been created by creatures from some extra-terrestrial saucer! Look at this one just under the tip of our wing as our plane approached the Kahului Airport. (Actually the circular design is made by irrigation units.)

One of our favorite places on Maui is Mama's Fish House Restaurant and Inn. We became acquainted with Mama's many years ago because our daughter-in-law works there. And this year it is a happy experience to be staying in one of Mama's beach units.

Hubby made reservations for a studio unit. When we arrived we found that Mama's had upgraded our reservation from a studio unit to a lovely 2 bedroom apartment with a balcony view of the ocean. We were surprised to say the least. (To put it more accurately, we were Startled! Surprised! Delighted!)

We can hear the surf outside our window. We eat breakfast out on the balcony. The beach is right at our feet down a cozy little path that is surrounded by tropical foliage.

Today we spent a fun day with our son, our daughter-in-law, and our two granddaughters. They're a fun pair, those two girls. They love swimming in a little swim area and combing the beach for "treasure" in the form of small seashells. They play a mean game of Yahtzee and love jigsaw puzzles and crafts.

This is a quiet diversion from cancer. In February we'll be going to Mayo Clinic for an in-depth review as to what we will be doing next in regards to my cancer. But that is there and then. For now, reality is here and now. Quietly tropical. And pleasant indeed.

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A Post Entitled "The Furnace!"

My mother is a hardy soul. For those of you who have not been following along, her furnace gave a great sigh of despair and quit working...right in the middle of a long intense cold spell.

As a refresher here, the word "cold" is defined as 23 degrees below zero. That's cold, my friends!

Mom lives in a tidy little two bedroom home. She had it winterized a few years back with extra insulation in the attic, etc., which makes it economical to heat or cool. That extra insulation came in handy this past week when she had to heat with three stand-alone radiant heaters...one in the kitchen, one in the living room, one in a bedroom.

It was worrisome to me. This house is not new. That means the wiring is not new. Heating the house through that old wiring was worrisome to me. So I asked her if she wanted to come over to our house and stay until the furnace was fixed. No, she preferred staying at home. The heaters were keeping the house "almost" as warm as the furnace had done.

Last Thursday, on the third try, the correct part finally arrived. Mom was happy. I was happy. The repair guy was happy. I checked with her today and she says "all is well". Except that she's now a bit nervous...every time she senses the room cooling even slightly before the thermostat kicks in, she begins to wonder!

Stay warm, Mom!

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William and Jake and All the Others

I need to leave the house inside the hour. We're headed to Omaha for my next session of "chemo". My "real" chemo (carbo/taxel) is completed. But I'm on a clinical trial and receive an infusion via my power port of a third drug (or a placebo) every three weeks until June 2010. So we need to leave soon for the clinic.

But today is Veteran's Day. Every year I think I have a greater appreciation for our Veterans than I did the year before. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Maybe it's because I fear the younger generation doesn't always understand or appreciate the lives (and deaths) of so many of our loved ones in WWI and WWII, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the wars of the Middle East, and other times and other places where they were asked to go into harm's way.

I don't have time to write a long post and so I will refer you to the following.

You can read about my husband's great-uncle here. In October 1917 William Henry Kuckku left Emmett, Idaho for army camp where he spent four weeks (that's 4 WEEKS) training before being shipped overseas. He died in March 1918 in France at the Battle of Cantigny during WWI.

My Uncle Jake served in Europe during WWII. He came home after the war but was recalled into the service during the Korean War where he was wounded by a rifle bullet to the chest. You can read a tiny bit about his life here. His wound paralyzed him from the chest down and the only memories I have of him are of him in a wheelchair. He was the sweetest man, kind, gentle, laughing. A couple times he drove non-stop from California to our farm in Iowa to visit. This gave him sores on his hip bones and he spent the time flat on his back on the sofa so the skin could heal before heading back to California. Uncle Jake died young because of the complications of the paralysis.

My brother served as part of a helicopter crew aboard the USS Kearsarge during the Vietnam War, coming home after completing his 4-year enlistment. He still buddies around with his friend, Sam, a classmate who enlisted with him. The two are a couple of clowns.

Another brother spent four years in the Air Force, serving stateside. My hubby put in time in the Air Force in Korea.

Currently I have a niece (and her husband) and a nephew in the service, all having served overseas in Iraq and Korea.

This post is not witty, nor wise, nor anything of great literary value (perhaps none of my posts are any of that!). But I just wanted to recognize our servicemen today. Those who have gone before, those who did not come home, those who Did come home, those who still serve.

God bless you all. And the Moms that love you.

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A Clackety-Clackety Earful

I wonder how many times these keys have been struck, how many words were written and how many sheets of paper shuffled in and out of this old antique typewriter. This particular model (Underwood No. #5) provided a livelihood for millions in the first half of the 20th Century. A roomful of 20 or 30 secretaries all busily typing away would have surely been a clackety-clackety earful!

Saturday my Daughter and I went to a couple yard sales and she spotted this Underwood No. 5. The price was right at a perfect $5.

And I mean "perfect" in that our 14-yr-old Grandson likes to tinker. He likes playing with screwdrivers and pliers and drills. He used a bit of WD-40 to clean surface areas and was pleased that he got the space bar and the "stuck" keys to begin functioning. He thinks this will make a nice piece of "decor" in their living room. It's fortunate that his mother and he have similar tastes in interior decorating!

The No. 5 was one of Underwood's spectacularly successful models and was "the" typewriter for most of the first half of the 20th Century. You can read more about antique typewriters at The Classic Typewriter Page.

Being a retired secretary (the modern title is "administrative assistant") I had to put my own hands to the keyboard and try this out myself. I wonder if the secretary of yesteryear encountered carpal tunnel and arthritis from the constant pounding. And there was no "backspace/delete" key that would undo mispelled words or incorrect grammar. Oh, no. Instead there were erasers and later, that beloved (or hated) bottle of white-out. Every letter required a carbon copy which meant that erasures had to occur on the original as well as the copies. What a tedious task! My first week on the job, with only one semester of high-school typing, required me to type 50 copies of a fund-raising letter. They were duplicates except for the address line. The only copy machine we had was a thermofax (that will date me!) and fund-raising letters were of such importance that each addressee should receive his/her own "originally-typed" letter. I did a lot of erasing that week! And by the end of the week my typing had improved considerably!
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Yummy Black & White Cookies by Yiddle

Yiddle over at yiddle.net spent yesterday baking cookies. Not just plain ordinary cookies, mind you! No! These are fabulous Black & White Cookies! Think of these when you want a special treat at your next fun event.

And these would also be a great project for your kids. Her secret "how-to" is simple and so easy that anyone could make them. Of course, they take a teensy bit of hands-on effort but the process is much simpler than I thought.


These are so cool I think you will definitely want to jump right over there and see how she makes 'em. Yiddle gives a link to the recipe she used as well as written instructions on how to make 'em.


Yumm!

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Remembering

If my dad were alive today he'd be 109 years old. Do the math. You probably think I'm a lot older than I am. But Dad did not marry until he was 40 years old. Then he went on to raise six kids, working hard as a hired hand on a small farm. In many ways he was a remarkable man, able to fix anything and everything that needed fixing on the farm. Not that he ever held a high-paying job nor enabled his family to live in luxury. We lived frugally on a hired hand's wages. Sometimes there simply was "no money".

But we were not "poor". We knew kids in school whose families were "poor". In comparison to their tough lives, we had it easy. A roof over our heads. Food in the garden and cellar. Eggs from the chickens and milk from the cows. It meant hard work on his part as well as ours for we learned young how to help our mom and dad with chores, make beds, dust floors, cook eggs or hamburgers in a cast-iron skillet, peel potatoes for supper. By the time we were ten or twelve, we were earning small amounts of money by picking up corn (gleaning) from the ground after the combines had done their job of harvesting. Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays meant we were out in the field, walking the rows, shucking and tossing corn into a five-gallon bucket which we filled and carried to a spot in the row where we dumped the corn, piling it in piles until we could later drive Dad's old International pickup through the field to gather the piles into the truck. By the age of twelve, we were spending our summers in the field as well, hoeing seed corn fields, detasseling, and hoeing beans until the start of the new school year.

Yesterday I visited my dad's grave at a small country cemetery in Saunders County, Nebraska. Dates on the stones range from the late 1800s to this decade. My family's plot includes my dad, one of his brothers and a sister, and their parents. I and my siblings make the 100 mile trip now and then. Sometimes every two or three Memorial Days apart. In the past we've coordinated our visit to meet there together, bringing sandwiches, coffee, chips and picnicking under the trees. It's a peaceful location, atop the hill, looking out over Nebraska farmland. The homestead next to the cemetery is the one on which my parents lived when they first married before they moved to Iowa. Did I say peaceful? Yes. And I myself get a certain amount of peace looking out over the hilly countryside, trying to see back into time, into the lives of my parents and grandparents.

This time I cried. Wept. Not in a maudlin way, but in a "missing" way. I miss my dad. He's been gone 24 years now and that's a long time not to see your dad.

Today's Scriptures include John 5:25 and John 11:25 and I Thessalonians 4:13-14. (Don't forget to place your cursor over the scriptures to read them.)

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Before We Lived in Castles We Played "Andy Andy Over"

When we drive into the city (which is not a large city, only 83,000 population) I am always amazed at the size of today's new homes. They look like castles with three stories plus basement and I hesitate to even guess their square footage. I wonder to myself, "Who does the cleaning/dusting/vacuuming in those huge homes?" Even though we have carpet in only two small rooms, vacuuming is not my favorite task of the week. I can't imagine having the job of cleaning a mansion. (At which point I concede these people must hire someone to come in and do such a menial task.)

My aunt and uncle lived almost their entire married live in a 660 square foot house. They moved from Nebraska to Iowa some time prior to 1945. Soon after, my uncle purchased a chicken house and moved it onto a lot in town. Then he renovated it inside and out and made a tidy little home where he and his wife raised three children. My aunt was a wonderful homemaker who could sew, cook, clean, garden. She kept their little home spotless. They were a God-fearing (or God-loving, whichever you prefer for both are true) couple who lived a simple life. They lived there until they both passed away a number of years ago.

As children my brothers and I often visited their home and always felt welcome. They didn't put up with any nonsense, though, and sharply reprimanded my brother when he threw rocks high into the air for their dog to catch and fetch. (His poor teeth!) And Aunt forbade another brother to play the victrola after he kept dragging his fingers on the records, causing the record to play slower and slower and lower and lower.

Outdoors, in the cool of the evening, when the adults were busy indoors visiting, we played Antony Over with cousins. I used to call it Andy Over but Antony Over is the more original name. The Dictionary of American Regional English mentions the game as being played in the Appalachian area in the late 1800s and being possibly of Scots origin. Players gathered on opposite sides of the house. One person would yell "Antony Over" (or Andy Andy Over) as he tossed a rubber ball over the roof of the house. On the other side the team members would try to catch the ball. If they failed, they yelled "Pigtail" and would themselves toss the ball over the roof, again yelling "Andy Andy Over." If those on the far side caught the ball in the air before it bounced they would speed around to the other side of the house and try to catch a player before the members of that team ran to the far side of the house. I don't remember the rules exactly, but that is the gist of it.

Recently I found this game mentioned in an old book that I am reading. One British bookseller says this about the book: "S.R. Crockett's The Stickit Minister and Some Common Men, published in 1893, was among the best-selling works of fiction of the decade. Set mostly in Galloway, in the south west of Scotland, these spirited tales offer an entertaining blend of wry humour, subtle pathos and social observation, told in energetic prose and vigorous Scots (Scots dialect)." So there you have it...the game was played in Scotland and in all probability was brought to the Appalachians by Scots immigrants.

I don't think anybody living in today's castle-like homes will be playing Antony Over. They'd have a difficult time tossing a rubber ball high enough to clear the peak. But then, I'm not certain anyone ten years younger than I will have even heard of the game.

Andy Andy Over! Pigtail!

You Asked How I Am Feeling?

Many of my friends and family ask me how I am feeling. And their question is sincere for they know I've been doing chemo since February for ovarian cancer.

So the answer is that the first few days after a chemo session I experience some aches and joint pains and a bit of listlessness. Once I get past those first few days I feel pretty decent and have a goodly amount of energy.

My blood counts fluctuate, of course, due to the effects of the chemo but that doesn't seem to affect my sense of well-being. But because the white blood count plummets I am a bit leary about catching some cold or other illness which might, in ordinary times, be mild. My lack of white blood cells would cause any illness to be much more severe for me. I don't want to be a total recluse and so I try to watch the white blood count and be out and about when it is at its best.

The photo? That's genuinely me! My daughter brought her DS1 which has a camera feature that allows you to distort the photo with a stylus. I think this one should be titled, "Did you say "Chemo?"!!!!!! When she and my grandson were here last weekend we sat on the sofa, taking and altering self-portraits, laughing up a storm. This was one of the funniest!

Today's verse is Psalm 5:11.

Vintage Photographs

It's funny how photos from your childhood can bring out family memories...especially if you ask questions. Our 1928 Studebaker still holds fascination for my siblings and me.

I was probably a year old when I rode in this car on a long trip from Nebraska to California and back again. My grandparents lived in California where they had moved from the old homestead in Nebraska. My mother missed them. And so it was, that sometime in 1946, my mother asked her brother Jake, home from the War, to drive her the 1800 miles to see her parents. Imagine the slow pace of the trip!

My two brothers sat in back. I, on the other hand, was barely a year old and reluctant to leave my mother's side even though it meant I must be brave enough to sit beside this virtual stranger who was my Uncle Jake. His method of ingratiating himself to me was to pull a silver dollar out of his pocket and let me play with it, joking that "Money always entices the ladies".

In California we visited family. My three uncles (Jake, Clarence and Fred) posed for photographs in their uniforms. Jake had served considerable time in Europe during WWII. Fred and Clarence were in uniform but had not been overseas. Gramma must have been greatly grateful that her three boys were home safe and sound.

Later, the car played out another family story when Dad and two friends rolled it on a rough gravel road one morning on their way to work. The car rolled a couple times, bounced upright, and went on down the road with nary a dent in its tough body. The only damage was a broken rear window. The men themselves sustained not a scratch in spite of the tumble and continued on to work.

Sadly, years later, my father junked out the old car. It was becoming impossible to keep tires repaired on those old wood spoke wheels. And by then we had a "newer" car, so this one went into the scrap heap. Dad kept the "Oogah" horn and the headlights. For years the headlights hung by a wire in his shop. He gave the Oogah horn to Uncle Jake who installed it on his 1953 Ford and with which he used to "oooooogah" unsuspecting passers-by and then laugh uproariously as he greeted them with a wave of his hand.

Later, Uncle Jake would be called up again to serve in the Korean war. He received a wound that paralyzed him from the waist down and which caused his early death at age 42. He was a kind and gentle man.